Signs of Change
by Chikaki
Summary: Sequel/Parallel to Unknown Blood Dwayne learns that things must get worse to become better and that change isn't necessarily bad.
1. The first Sign

**Hello, everybody! **

**Here it is, the sequal/parallel to _Unknown Blood. _You can read either and get the story, but both will contain different scenes and perspectives. This is part two of our four-part series, the remaining two being Paul and Marko. (And yes, Dwayne is rather angsty in this story, it helps to form his character-why else would he be the lovable, broody, shirtless vampire that we know and love?) Anyways, TLB belong to Warner Bros, not me, yadda yadda yadda, only thing that's mine is the plot and original charries. Which is how it should remain, yes? Yes.**

* * *

The first sign to Dwayne Mathers that his life was going downhill was the last letter he wrote to his little sister.

He had moved to Santa Carla looking for work, leaving Isabelle in Arizona with their father. The last letter she had sent arrived six months after he started working in the Santa Carla Riolta, a popular hotel built less than a decade before.

Despite living in a tiny townhouse, he managed to find the money to write her weekly. His last letter had seen no response, which he found odd. Usually his sister wrote him back quickly, but already a lot of time had passed without response. Finally a letter arrived from a law firm, detailing a fire that had caused the death of not just his father, but Isabelle. Almost everything was gone.

It was the second fire in their family-when he was three and Isabelle a newborn, a small fire had broken out in the master bedroom. Everyone survived unhurt, expect their mother. She died. Dwayne hardly remembered her, being young and having no remaining pictures. Mr. Mathers drowned his sorrows in gin and left them to be alone.

For almost as long as he could remember, he had wanted to escape and leave their house. Unfortunately, Isabelle would have lived there until she married. Well, Dwayne thought bitterly, she'll never be able to prove how loving she would have been to children of her own.

He withdrew from his thoughts and looked down at the letter in his hands. It was the second letter from the same lawyer who told him of the fire. This one detailed his father's debts and what had been taken to cover them by the bank. Little in the house had survived-silverware, little pointless things, and some of Isabelle's jewellery. She had inherited it from their mother and cherished it. She had told their family's servant that she would polish it as needed. Isabelle would spend hours sitting at her vanity, polishing each piece until it almost glowed.

Dwayne closed his eyes and sighed deeply in grief. His grandparents would be organizing the funerals, and even if he had the money to go to them, he was positive he wouldn't have been invited. His father had long been estranged from both sides and Dwayne hardly knew his grandparents. It would be almost a miracle if he ever made it back to Arizona to see her grave.

Remembering where he was and that he was on lunch, Dwayne checked the dollar watch in his pocket and stood. Back to work.

The afternoon was quiet. It wasn't overly surprising, it was April and the hotel was usually slightly quieter at the main desk. Around the holidays and during the summer it would pick up. Nevertheless, a man and his daughter checked in. The clerk coming off duty whispered news in his ear. "They were talking to the boss when they came in, so they must be friends," he hissed. "_Be respectful_."

That was the number one rule; respect the boss and his friends.

Eventually his shift ended and he prepared to leave. A bellhop bounced in and flashed Dwayne a smile. "Good shift?"

"I've had better." Dwayne said shortly. He wasn't in the mood at all to converse, but then, he usually wasn't.

The smile fell off the bellhop's face as he turned around, away from Dwayne. "See you tomorrow then, I guess."

Dwayne raised his hand in a half-hearted gesture of farewell but the bellhop missed it in his offended state. Not that Dwayne cared, he finished gathering the few things he brought with him to work and left himself.

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

Dwayne arrived home and lit a small candle. He couldn't afford the new, electric light but made do with candles. Much less expensive. The glow of the candle gave light to the main room of his house. There were only four rooms: his bedroom, bathroom, kitchen, and this main living space. It was all he could afford. Only once had his father ever agreed to send money to help his son and that had been last month. Even if he wasn't dead, he wouldn't have given any aid to Dwayne again. He would have a lot of work to do if he would make the mortgage this month.

It was dark now, the twilight had been pleasant and he had taken the longer way home past the water. Lost in memories, he hadn't realized that he had walked right into someone. He had apologized, as had the man, before they parted.

Dinner was simple. Dwayne and Isabelle had taught themselves to cook, since neither the nanny their father employed nor the servant could. His life had mostly revolved around caring for his sister, but with her dead, that was over. It was over when she saw him off on the train to California and became absolutely final with her death. What was he supposed to do with such a large part of his life gone?

With a quick breath, he blew out the candle and went to bed.


	2. The second Sign

The second sign that life was changing was the letter from the bank. By that point, Dwayne realized that he now detested the mail.

The letter was straight, to the point and didn't mince words: he didn't pay all the owed money to the bank that month, and if they didn't receive payment by the twentieth he'd be tossed out onto the street. Dwayne would loose his house and everything in it to cover the money he owed. The problem was, he had nothing to pay them with.

There were no valuables-unless his bed counted, because it was the only thing that he actually valued-in his house. His inheritance had been lost to cover his father's debts, leaving not even a cent to help him pay off his own debt. There were two ways for him to possibly get the money he needed: He could get a second job to in the evenings or he could ask his boss for more shifts. Since he wouldn't be paid soon enough even if he found a second job that instant, Dwayne decided he would ask Mr. Hargreaves for more shifts the following day.

Mr. Hargreaves wasn't exactly giving or kind to his employees, though-people gossiped that he had fired several just out of boredom. Dwayne wasn't hopeful when it came to dealings with Arnold Hargreaves, but if he got the shifts he could count his lucky stars.

He arrived early at the hotel the following day and was able to speak to Mr. Hargreaves soon. The man may not like his employees, but he certainly liked the hotel and was there early and left late. He stood when Dwayne entered his office, not that it made much difference in his height. He was stout, pudgy man, wider out than he was up. A cigar was clamped between his fleshy lips as he received Dwayne. "What can I do for you?"

Dwayne cleared his throat and stood just a little straighter before he spoke. "Mr. Hargreaves, I'm extremely grateful for giving me employment here, sir. It's a great place to work. I was hoping that I could take several nightshifts a week."

Mr. Hargreaves leaned over his desk, studying him for a moment. "Are you in the red?"

Dwayne tensed slightly, but the man, preoccupied with his cigar, didn't notice. "Are you sure that's necessary to know, sir?"

"No, I suppose not." The man had moved to lean back in his chair, pondering Dwayne's request for a moment. "You better work diligently during your shifts, day _and_ night, Mathers. If I hear from the overnight manager that you aren't doing satisfactory work, then I _will _fire you."

Relief flooded Dwayne, and he couldn't help but grin a little. "Thank you very much, sir," he replied, shaking hands with his boss and bowing his head as he backed out of the office. "I won't let you down."

Mr. Hargreaves waved him out of his office and puffed on the sweet smelling cigar. "You better not."

*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^*^

It was a nice surprise for the man to have agreed so readily to give Dwayne extra shifts. The thought cheered him up-maybe he wouldn't be evicted this month. There was always next month, and the next month, and the next…

But for this month he would hopefully be safe, He received his pay on the nineteenth, so on the following morning he would just meet the deadline and pay off what was owed.

Dwayne stared into the mirror in the staff's restroom. There were dark shadows under his eyes, giving him a hollow look, despite the fact that he liked to return to work after his break looking refreshed and polished. Between the purple circles and his hair looking a little shaggy-it could certainly have been shorter, and soon he would get it cut-_refreshed_ and _polished_ were not the words to describe his appearance.

Leaving his thoughts behind, he returned to the main desk. The day, to his pleasure, was overcast. Normally at this time the sun would shine brightly, since the pillar didn't block it this early. He loathed this time of day for that reason. The sky, along with the promise of more work and therefore money, made the day a little more bearable.

The main desk handled most of the things related to the guests, from check in or out to amenities. If someone wanted something done he or another clerk on duty handled it. Whether they wanted to reserve the tennis courts or get more pillows in their room, they were the one to see. Mornings were always busiest, declining around noon and remaining slower throughout the afternoon.

Dwayne sat in the desk chair, going over the check out records. One of their guests had been supposed to check out earlier in the morning but never. When the maids had gone up to clean his room, they found his belongings safely tucked in their proper places and his dinner lying untouched on the table. He made a note of it when a female voice broke his concentration.

"Excuse me, sir?"

He looked up to see Miss Willows-the daughter of Mr. Willows, a friend of Mr. Hargreaves. A phrase trickled into his mind-_Respect the boss's friends._ "May I make a request?"

Dwayne nodded his head politely. "Of course. What can I do for you, Miss?"

"I would like to get some flowers placed in my room-if it's possible."

Respect the boss's friends. They got the best treatment. He nodded his head again. "I'll get them, Miss. What kind would you like?"

"Lilies, please." Miss Willows pulled several coins out of her small purse and dropped them on the desk. Dwayne took the wordlessly.

"And to which room?"

"One hundred twelve."

Dwayne lowered his head to write her request down. "Very good, Miss. I can get them to your room by tomorrow."

She flashed him a genuine smile. "Thank you, sir."

As she turned and left, he rang the small bell to summon a bellhop. Dwayne bent over the note, adding a last line before folding it in half. "Lilies for room one twelve. They're friends of the boss," he added, jerking his head in the direction of Mr. Hargreaves' closed door. The bellhop nodded in understanding. "And here's the money for them."

The bellhop took the money and request in his hands. "I can get them now."

"Perfect."

The bellhop returned to the main desk about an hour later, a vase of fresh lilies in his hands. "What room was it again?" he asked, looking a little sheepish. "Lost the paper."

"One twelve," Dwayne replied. "Lucky for you, _I _can remember these things."

The bellhop raised an eyebrow. "Yes yes, but at least the room I have to deliver flowers to is the most of my worries."

The man rushed off to leave Dwayne pondering his words, but it was only a short time later that Mr. Hargreaves came to the desk. "Adam Willows tells me that his daughter requested flowers for their room, but they won't be there until tomorrow. I like the Willows. Tomorrow is not good enough, Mathers."

"Don't worry. They're already on their way up," Dwayne replied, cutting off his boss. He figured that the man's words had been heading for 'because of that, you're fired' and decided it would be best if he didn't get that far.

Sure enough, Mr. Hargreaves seemed to accept it. "Good, then. Keep it up, Mathers."

After the man made his way back to his office and slammed the door, Dwayne relaxed slightly. One more day without getting fired.


	3. The third Sign

**My dearest readers, smack me upside the head, please! I had this uploaded to the Archive at Marked By The Boys (A site you should really visit) forever ago and totally forgot to upload it here. . So if I kept you waiting because of that, I'm so sorry! **The third sign that life was changing was the night everything became broken.

* * *

The day had started off normal enough. Dwayne had two shifts: one in the morning and then the swing shift, starting at midnight and ending at eight. Though he had not yet been paid, he had earned just enough to pay the owed portion. For another moth, he owned his house. All he would have to do is visit the bank the next day after getting paid.

He liked the swing shift For one, the sun was only up for the latter half and the job at that hour was mostly just sitting there and pretending to look busy. As long as one looked like he was deep in documents, they could take a nap, propped up on their elbow. If they didn't snore, they were golden. He was pretty much getting paid to sleep!

What Dwayne didn't like was the havoc double shifts played on his sleep. Several times during his morning shift he had dozed in a very light sleep, only to be waken by a passing bellhop. He had agreed to not tell Mr. Hargreaves-if Dwayne paid him off. By pure luck there was just enough in his uniform's pocket to satisfy the bellhop. Something else he hated were the occasionally bossy customers.

The woman's eyes settled on his hair. The poorly disguised disgust told Dwayne quite clearly that that she disliked him and his appearance. He didn't have to be a genius to figure it out. He looked at her with his head lowered to the desk, masking his observations as she approached and slipped a letter across the desk.

"I would this mailed to San Francisco, please."

Dwayne took the letter and placed it in a basket to be mailed off with the rest of the mail. "Yes ma'm, it will be my pleasure," he responded, the oft-repeated phrase slipping off his tongue with ease. "Is that all you require?"

She replied that no, she wanted to book a tennis court for the afternoon.

He retrieved the tennis schedule from under the desk and looked over it. "I'm sorry, but the courts are booked for today. Would tomorrow be fine?"

"No, it would not be. Good day."

The woman left him to be in peace and he returned to the dreary world of the files in front of him.

"…Lucky, isn't it?" A voice said, attracting Dwayne's attention. A young man, his age, was speaking to the bossy woman he had just dealt with.

They conversed for another few minutes before the woman left. Dwayne continued to watch, once more appearing as if he was looking at his paperwork. What the guests did was of no consequence to him. If they wanted to speak, so be it. If it was ten feet from where he worked, fine.

The man turned to Dwayne and flashed a smile before leaving himself. He couldn't help but return it, wishing the man luck in whatever it was that he found lucky. In the few minutes that he had spoken to the woman, she nearly sent shivers down his spine.

At four that afternoon his shift ended and he returned to his house to eat and get some sleep, before returning for his next shift. The hotel was dark and quiet by then, and the clerk coming off duty greeted him with a large yawn.

There was a candle on the desk giving off a warm glow, the lights on the walls were dimmed, and the whole atmosphere was very peaceful, making it so easy to nod off. The cup of tea that one of the two bellhops on duty passed him didn't help much, since it was warm and relaxing. Dwayne stifled a yawn and tapped a finger on the desk as he propped his head up with a hand, feeling his eyelids getting heavy. Surely no one would know if he put his head down for a minute and dozed…

He never noticed the minute waves forming in his cup. There was no time to, since the serene quiet shattered when a tremor shook the hotel.

The candle fell to the floor and tea sloshed all over the desk. Dwayne tried to stand but stumbled over his feet, one hand on the wall to keep himself from falling all the way to the floor. He took a deep breath when it stopped shaking, for just a moment before checking on the guests and general condition of the hotel.

Then the earth really let it rip.

The second tremor was worse than the first. This time it sent him sprawling over the floor. Overhead woken guests stormed the elevator and stairs, and there was nothing he could do to get up or move until the quake stopped.

When it finally did, there was silence, for a moment, then the screams became audible even in the lobby. Dwayne started to pick himself up off the ground, when there was a rumbling and a crack as the hotel began to move. The guests were running through the lobby now, pulling open the doors forced open by those in front. Before he could move for them himself, a high-pitched screech made him hesitate for just a brief second. By then, it was too late for him to escape.

An extreme pain tore through his chest as he was crushed. There was no feeling below his neck and though his eyes were open, everything was very fuzzy and indistinct.

With a scream silently tearing through his fevered mind, he dropped into unconsciousness.

* * *

The pain in his chest was unbearable, like fire was ripping through him. Sparks seemed to run almost lazily through his veins. Unaware of his surroundings, Dwayne managed to groan, despite the intense pain it caused, and attempted to look to see where he was. But everything was black, without even the slightest light visible. It _felt_ like he was lying down in a bed, but he was at the hotel still, wasn't he? Employees didn't sleep in the hotel. Not ever. It wasn't allowed.

It hurt even more to try and speak than it did to groan, but he was desperate to know where he was. "Where am I?" He would have winced if it wouldn't hurt so much. The pain to speak made him want to scream in agony.

There was no response. Dwayne began psyching himself up to speak again when someone actually responded. "You're with me."

He stopped his mental efforts when the person spoke. For a moment he couldn't place it, but then he did. The boy who had spoken to the bossy woman. That was it, though he couldn't picture him. "Who are you?" he whispered in a barely audible voice to make it hurt less, which it didn't.

"David. And you are?"

"Dwayne."

Faint footsteps became louder before a second voice poke. "Ah, good! You're awake." Someone patted Dwayne on the shoulder and he stiffened, resisting the urge to scream. "Would you like to feel better? I can give you something that will make you feel better. You'll never age and you'll never be hurt. But if you don't take it, you'll surely die. Do you want it?"

The man said he would die. Despite missing Isabelle and the burning pain, he had no desire to die. If he never got old and felt the pain of aging, even better. The choice was so easy. Not wanting to speak again, Dwayne gave the tiniest nod possible.

"Excellent," the second voice said. He could practically feel the happiness radiating from the general direction of the voice. "You won't regret it…Dwayne, was it? You won't regret it, Dwayne."

He could hear the clink of thick glass on metal before a cool solid was pressed to his lips. Dwayne assumed it was a glass or cup of some sort, since he could feel the curved edge and a liquid brushing his lips. Obligingly he opened his mouth as little as he could to avoid pain, but managed to swallow the thick liquid. It was unlike anything he had ever tasted before. Despite its coolness, it seemed to dim a miniscule fraction of the pain, though the overall sting and immense agony was still there. It both warmed and froze him, the sparks that were small aches melting away.

Almost immediately he felt marginally better, even as the cool substance was removed from his mouth. Overcome by a sharp shiver, he didn't listen to or notice any sound from the other two voices in the room, presumably two different people. It was only when he pulled out of it to lie still on the surface did he realize that they were speaking the whole while. He noticed the second voice saying, "…back to work. Lucky I could close it after the earthquake."

There was a repetitive thumping that grew softer as Dwayne attempted to turn his head without moving it. "There was an earthquake?" he said, once more trying to talk as quietly as possible without it hurting. And still without any luck.

"Yeah. Max picked us up after it. Now-don't talk. You've got to heal. I won't tell you about the earthquake unless you keep quiet."

David's voice was clearer now; and louder. There was a low, rich smell in the air, as wonderful as the substance he had drunk just a few moments ago, almost salty and metallic but absolutely incredible. Bizarre. Dwayne nodded in response to David's words. Regardless of whatever came from David's mouth, he felt a little stronger than he had before and wanted to know what had happened.

"Well, there was an earthquake a few nights ago and we got trapped in the hotel. I know I was in bad shape, because I still can't walk, and I assume you were in worse shape because you've got a blindfold over your eyes and you're pretty dinged up everywhere else. He rescued us from the hotel, took us to his house, and fed us blood from a wine bottle. So, now you and I are, well, half-vampires."

David called them vampires. Never mind the _half_ part, all that filtered into his thoughts was the word vampire. It had to be a joke. There was no way he could have drunk someone's blood without realizing, was there? Blood was red and smelled coppery…just like the smell in the air. Coppery and warm and thick and salty…maybe it wasn't such a joke afterall.

If he _was_ a vampire, was there a way to reverse it? Did he even _want_ it reversed?

The voice-David called him Max-said he would die unless he drank that liquid, which he presumed was blood. If he got the blood out of his body, would he become human again? Or would he die from the injuries that both David and Max called so severe they would kill him?

Had he the strength or ability, he would have put his face in his hands. _Oh, God, what have I done?_

"What you've done is drink blood. So, like me, you're a half-vampire."

Even though he had come to that conclusion himself, hearing it said aloud like that chilled Dwayne to the core, to the point where he hadn't even noticed David replying to his thoughts. Even so, he kept denying to himself that he had blood. His mind said 'no', while his subconscious kept saying 'yes'. It was too fantastic an idea. _I've never drunk blood. What is he talking about?_

David spoke again, but this time Dwayne could hear the bitter amusement. "You did drink blood, that was the stuff Max gave you. Don't tell me you can't smell it in the air, I know you can. Because I smell it too."

David was right in that he could smell something, and though he knew guessed it was the blood in the other boy, he resisted the thought that it was. The thought was still so unbelievable, and for that matter, how had he-David-heard his thoughts? He hadn't voiced them, since he wasn't in agonizing pain, but he had thought them. Unless David read minds, it wasn't possible.

Then again, vampires weren't supposed to exist either…

With resigned and grudging belief, Dwayne finally accepted the words for what they were. He had miraculously survived the earthquake, which should have killed him, and if he had refused the blood offered to him by Max he would have died. He didn't trust Max for it-after all, he hadn't told him what it was he had been drinking. Whereas David did tell him, almost right away. It was David he was beginning to trust, not Max.

The sound of bound pages rustling caught his attention. "Max left some stuff for us. Want me to read out loud?"

Dwayne nodded. What Max had left for them, who knew. The pages scratched against one another as David opened the book, then spoke again. "_Dracula_ chapter one. Jonathon Harker's journal."

_Dracula_. The man had left them _Dracula_ to read. The irony nearly made him chuckle.

The book was actually pretty good, though it made the fact that both he and David were half-vampires loom heavily in his mind. Even so, he did try to push the fact to the side and focus on the story itself. It was easy to like Jonathon and Mina Harker. He disliked the count, but some of the vampire's powers were formidable and ones Dwayne himself wouldn't have minded having to experiment with. If the book was right, and they would be able to do those things when they were fully turned, then he would happily spend a lot of time experimenting.

Eventually he grew weary and it was difficult not to fall asleep. The temptation to-well, not lay back on his pillow and close his eyes, because he was already in that position-but to just slumber for ten or twelve hours was incredibly inviting. He assumed that it was getting late at night, since even when he had dealt with overnight and swing shifts at the hotel, it was always the late night hours that were hardest. Then again, didn't vampires had to avoid the sun? Were their internal clocks already readjusted to that of a vampire? He had no idea.

If he had been able to see, it would have been easy to know. But David claimed that he had a blindfold on and Dwayne translated that to mean his eyes were badly damaged. It scared him-how would he see without functioning eyes? If Dwayne was going to be immortal, he did not want to do it without vision.

He yawned and heard the book close. "We can continue tomorrow night."

Dwayne knew now that David could hear his thoughts, which he was glad of because it meant he didn't have to talk and deal with the pain. He could think and that was pretty much painless. "_No, keep going. I can stay awake"._

"Oh no, you can't." He could hear the same weariness in David's voice now. It seemed he wasn't the only one finding it harder to stay awake now. "We sleep in the day. Want a drink first?"

His suspicions now confirmed, Dwayne wondered what would happen if he drank more of what he assumed was blood. "_I guess it wouldn't hurt. It won't, will it?"_

"No". There was the sound of metal hitting glass and then the same cool, round surface he had felt earlier was pressed to his lips. This time Dwayne knew it was blood he was drinking, and though the thought disgusted him somewhat, it was already seemingly normal. Nor could he ignore his pleasure at the taste.

Having lifted himself up a tiny fraction to better reach the blood, he fell back to the pillows with a thump, solidly asleep.


	4. Seeing new life

Life and what remained of it had changed. If recovering from a fatal wound - by drinking blood and becoming a half-vampire – was any indication of it. The earthquake that had dropped the Riolta into the ground had injured more than just him. He was sure that many people were dead, but there was only one other person who was in the same shape as him.

He and David had decided that they might as well become friendly enough if they were going to be stuck together. So they had started exchanging stories, and talking about their lives. They didn't know if they would be able to go back to their lives as they had been prior to the quake-but, as Dwayne told David, he had "_There's nothing worth going back to._"

Despite his refusal to tell them anything beyond the basics of their new abilities, Max did take good care of them while they recovered, and they remained comfortable. The beds were warm and soft, and since the clothes they had come in were dirty and torn, Max had redressed them in his pyjamas. Despite being too big, they were luxurious to lounge in.

David had already told Dwayne his story, about his father being a jeweller in town to buy a plot of land to build another store. He and his mother had accompanied him. And now it was Dwayne's turn to tell David about his life.

"_**My family is dead. It's just me.**_**"**

**He found it almost painful to think about Isabelle. He had already wondered what would have happened if she found out what he was now. **

"_My mother died in a fire when I was a kid and my sister and father died a few months ago in another fire. The end._"

**David seemed to contemplate his words and didn't reply. Annoyed at the quiet, Dwayne took the chance to peer into David's thoughts; something both of them had been learning to do. David was much more skilled at it; to the point where Dwayne was never quite sure if David was scanning his mind until the latter commented on his thoughts. But the blonde could usually tell when Dwayne was looking, as he was still unused to probing thoughts. David was new to it as well, but he seemed to have a natural skill.**

David was marvelling at how different their lives had been, despite the fact that they were now both turned into half-vampires at the same time. Their stations had been different-he had had wealth, while Dwayne was living in near poverty. Dwayne withdrew his feeble probe after just a moment, so that David couldn't detect it.

Leaving David to contemplate their situation, Dwayne's thoughts wandered to Isabelle, in the last few days before he left for Santa Carla.

* * *

_There was a tapping at his door. "Come in," Dwayne called out, lifting his head from his drawers. He had been in the process of packing his clothes when Isabelle opened the door. _

_Her hands were clutched in front of her, her shoulders hunched. She was biting her lip and never let her eyes drift from her older sibling. "What are you doing?" she asked._

_Dwayne cocked an eyebrow. "I think you know exactly what I'm doing."_

"_Yes, but I can still have a conversation with you, right?" She sat on the edge of his bed and continued to study him. "When are you leaving?"_

"_You know that, too. I leave the day after tomorrow." Dwayne closed the drawer he had been unpacking and sat beside her. "What's wrong?"_

"_Nothing. Nothing's wrong. I just-" Isabelle looked down at her hands. "Just-why do you have to go, Dwayne?"_

_Dwayne put a protective arm around her and held her close to him. She snuggled in, her hand curled on his chest. Isabelle's head was tipped back to look up at him. "You also know why I have to go," he said softly. "I can't keep living here with our father anymore. He's still so hung up on mother and if I don't work, then we won't have anything for us."_

"_But I can't go; why leave me here alone with him?"_

"_Because…maybe I can save up enough money to send for you. You could get a job and live with me until you get married." Isabelle dipped her head, and they both looked at the wall for several minutes. Then, Dwayne said, "Isabelle, I know it's not ideal, and I want you to come with me, but you can't and I can't live in the same house as him any longer."_

_Isabelle slipped from under his arm and tilted her head to one side. "Maybe so, but-you _will_ manage to get me to Santa Carla, right?"_

"_I promise."_

"_Then I will wait until you do. Don't you dare forget."_

* * *

Two days later she had seen him off on the train. Six months later, she was dead, and he had never had the chance to save her from their father. His unfulfilled promise was heavy in his mind.

"Pretty girl. Did you have sex with her or something?"

"_**WHAT?!**__"_

He had been upset at Isabelle's death before. But to hear David comment on her – having taken a secret look into his thoughts and seen an intimate moment with Isabelle – and then to ask him if he had had sex with her-that made him angrier than he had been in his life.

**Dwayne forced David out his mind before catapulting himself into the blonde's mind. He wanted to drive David insane, to the point where he wouldn't be able to see his memories of Isabelle again, and relentlessly he racked through David's thoughts and memories, getting the briefest flashes as he tore through. At some point, he could hear David cry out with pain. Finally he drew himself out and returned to his own mind, the connection between their minds was full of pain - which Dwayne had caused David to feel.**

**Breathing hard was not helping the injury in his chest, so he slowly calmed his breathing until it was shallow and painless. David's breathing, on the other hand, was ragged. **

"What did you _do_?" David asked. "If I didn't wanna know, I would make you yell too."

"_Don't ever repeat that about my sister,_" Dwayne threatened. There was a rumble low in his throat, and if there had been any more air in there, it would have been audible. "_Or I'll do it again._"

"Okay, okay. Sorry."

* * *

More than a week passed before David got up from his bed and began to walk around the room. His legs were still a little weak, so even though he usually just stood up from his bed and sat on Dwayne's, he commented that it was quite nice to do even that. And Dwayne found the dip in his bed from David's weight comforting, as a physical sign that he wasn't becoming a vampire alone.

Nights seemed to pass quickly and telling one night from the next was sometimes difficult. Each had the same routine of drinking Max's from the bottle, talking about themselves or vampirism and reading _Dracula_ or _Carmilla_ or whatever else Max had for them that night.

It was becoming familiar, and although he couldn't forget Isabelle's mouldering corpse, most things, like his old life, working in the hotel and struggling to get by, was becoming more and more like an unpleasant dream, the details fogging. He couldn't complain about it, since it was one less thing to contemplate and more time to feel his body transform and heal.

Although Max had told him a few days after he woke up that there had been fluid seeping from his eyes when he was fed the blood, Dwayne didn't feel like a blind man. His eyes had tingled for almost a week and then stopped. When they did, the blindfold over his eyes almost felt tighter, like his eyes were done leaking fluid and had refilled themselves with the lost substance. Besides, he had been able to see even seconds before the earthquake, and since there had been no time for him to realize that he was blind, he doubted that it was possible.

So the night came when he told David he was taking the blindfold off.

He felt David watching him as his hands rose to first untangle the knotted blindfold from his hair-which had already grown several inches longer than it was before-and then as he untied the knot and pulled the cloth down, opening his eyes for the first time in several weeks.

The simple beauty of the room captured his attention instantly. He felt his eyes drawn to the intricacy of the patterned designs of the wallpaper, the small bumps and dents of the walls seeming huge in to him, the softness of the carpet under their beds. The bedspread covering him was solid navy blue, but he could see the shadows on it easily and the threads weaving through the material were better than any puzzle he had seen. David laughed at him staring holes into the bedspread and Dwayne turned to look at the half vampire.

David was more interesting than anything else. Now he recognized the man from the hotel and noted that his skin was several shades paler than it had been before. His hair was still pale blond, but looked like there was more life and shine to it. The pyjamas on his lean frame were too big and pooled on the bed underneath him, exposing several inches of the chest. Dwayne could focus in and count the fine blonde hairs on David's chest. But the blue eyes made him pause. They were cool and carried a slyness to them that he couldn't place, nor could he look away from the darker fleck of blue scattered across their surface. There was a satisfied smirk on his face, one side of his mouth raised higher than the other.

"Well?" David asked, watching Dwayne continue to scan the room. "How is it?"

Though his lips were parted, Dwayne still didn't speak. His chest still hurt too much to do so, though he tried on occasion. "_It's amazing. Imagine being blind and then…seeing things as you couldn't see them before._" He replied, his gaze now on _Dracula_. If this incredible vision-better than his sight had been as a full mortal-was a side effect of the vampirism, then he would be satisfied with becoming a vampire only to see the world.

David picked up the wine bottle from the nightstand between their beds, and Dwayne got his first look at the substance that had saved his life.

The bottle glass was clear, but it was covered with gold in bands around the middle and base. Large, almost gaudy rubies and olive coloured stones had been encrusted on the gold, whereas there was a band of square topaz around the base. The bottle nearly shone with all the precious stones and the gold on it. The liquid inside the wine bottle was more interesting to him than the bottle exterior, though. It was transparent and a deep crimson. The light bounced off the surface and Dwayne could smell it from his bed; a deep, metallic scent-but one oh so desirable. His mouth watered at it.

David took a drink from the bottle and reached to pass it to Dwayne. "Drink up."

Dwayne was able to see his hand as he took the bottle from David and raised it to his mouth. It was nice to not have someone put it to his lips to drink, but to just lift it himself. As he drank what he now recognized as blood, he watched it as it ran down the neck of the bottle and onto his waiting tongue. His vision swam as he felt the blood strengthen him and he blinked until it cleared, removing the bottle from his mouth and lifting it to look at it.

"_It's beautiful._"

"Max's blood?" David asked as Dwayne returned the bottle to the nightstand. "It's-not good, better-but it's only beautiful when it's in my mouth."

A smirk twitched Dwayne's lips. "_True. Speaking of Max, let's not tell him that I can see yet._"

Dwayne was sick of Max only telling them half of their questions. If they asked him whether their powers were the same as Count Dracula, Max would only grin and tell them that some were and some weren't. Which ones, though, he would "leave them to discover for their own good." As far as sires went (Though they didn't know how he compared to others), he didn't seem to be a good one. So why not withhold information from him?

Despite his delight in seeing the world through his improved eyes, the dim light of the room was beginning to sting a little, making him squint. Dwayne covered his eyes with his hand. "_I'm going to put the blindfold back on. The light hurts._" Maybe his sight wasn't yet fully healed. There was just a tiny bit of fluid pooling in the inner corners of his eyes and he could feel it when he blinked.

"Want a hand?" David asked, but Dwayne shook his head.

"_I can manage._"

Dwayne picked up the strip of cloth-which, he noted for the first time, was saturated with dried, browned blood that was already flaking off when it moved-and lifted it to his eyes, closing them as he tied it securely over behind his head. After the sights in the room, being plunged back into darkness felt heavy on his heart.

He couldn't wait until he could permanently remove the blindfold.


End file.
